


See

by StrippedDowntotheBone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs - Freeform, Alana Bloom - Freeform, Butterfly, Cannibalism, Caterpillar - Freeform, Chrysalis - Freeform, Darkness, Gen, M/M, Murder, Raven - Freeform, Ravenstag, Stag - Freeform, Therapy, Will's POV, blue crab, broken teacup, cassie boyle - Freeform, encephalitis, flashing light therapy, garet jacob hobbs, hannibal's POV, light - Freeform, post s01 e07, pre s01 e08, psychiatrist, psychiatry, psychic driving, see, shiatsu massage, therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrippedDowntotheBone/pseuds/StrippedDowntotheBone
Summary: "Will felt himself lose form until he was transparent; a spectre, that only Dr Lecter could see. He lowered his eyes from the ceiling. The blue curtains in his window parted, letting in amber rays that pressed warm kisses to his soul, some of which had the power to ignite him. Each kiss left a burn that read, in perfect cursive writing, I SEE YOU."Set between S01 E07 (Sorbet) and S01 E08 (Fromage).
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	See

**Author's Note:**

> This is after Will has taken notice of the stag statue in Hannibal's office. This is after he's bared witness to Hannibal's surgical skill. This is after he's returned Hannibal's friendship. This is before Will kissed Alana. This is before he's had the brain scan. This is after Hannibal has smelled the Encephalitis. And before Will knew Abigail killed Nicholas Boyle.

Will Graham, over the years, had stepped into the office of many psychiatrists, and he'd never liked a single one of them. 

  
He could see them flashing before his mind's eye; all of them different yet somehow nauseatingly similar... 

  
The bright, white light shining through the windows; from the ceiling; from the lamps tucked into the corners... All pointing to him, like flash lights in the hand of a diver looking to explore the dark waters of his mind. No where for the sharks to hide. 

  
The chair he sat in, as icy as the air that surrounded him; freezing him to it like the tongue of a rebellious kid who'd decided to lick a street pole in the middle of Winter. Or the couch, hot enough that he turned to liquid and seeped into the cushion, trapped within the fabric beside another coffee stain. 

  
The smells, so sickly-sweet that the scent of decay would appeal, or chemical enough to be the embalming fluid injected into those that had decayed. 

  
The rooms reeked of intention. SHOW YOURSELF, the lights demanded. STAY PUT, ordered the chair and couch. RELAX, commanded the scents; YOU'RE SAFE HERE, they tried persuading. 

  
Even the plants in the corners all grew mouths and desperately screamed, LET ME SEE YOU.

  
Will Graham had never been a fan of being seen. He'd never been a fan of seeing, either, but there was no working his way around that one, try as he might. A single word was an autobiography. One glimpse was a biographical film. Most days, he would avoid those windows into the soul. Other days, his own trembling one would reach out, searching for a sturdy hand to hold on to... but his reach was never met. Through those windows and into the house, spelled out on the fridge in alphabet magnets, were the words I WON'T UNDERSTAND YOU. 

  
The doctors had gone to school, they knew mental illness, they'd read books on psychology... but they didn't have experience, not with people like him. Nobody did; even he couldn't find any information on what he was. He was alone. He couldn't tell them that he'd lie awake most nights, living in his mind as somebody else; multiple somebodies... Criminal somebodies, ranging anywhere from burglars to serial killers. He couldn't tell them that each night he'd dream of strangling innocents. Slitting throats, breaking necks. They might say he had a form of Dissociative Identity Disorder. They could say he was suffering from Schizophrenia. Borderline Personality Disorder. Most likely, they'd deem him a Psychopath. He'd be put on medication, he'd lose his job and be sent to a psych ward. He'd live surrounded by the insane, for so many years that it would come to the point that he could no longer differentiate. He'd become as psychotic as the psychiatrists who'd diagnosed him believed him to be. 

  
A glance and they'd see what was lurking through those windows, hiding behind the curtains. They'd see, and they wouldn't understand. No one ever had. 

  
Up until he met a certain doctor. 

  
"I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love."

* * *

  
_One of these things is not like the others_   
_One of these things just doesn't belong_   
_Can you tell which thing is not like the others_   
_By the time I finish my song?_

* * *

  
Being in Dr Lecter's office was as comforting to him as being on a boat in still waters. The very air surrounding Will gingerly caressed him rather than shocked or sedated him. The room was in equal parts light and shadow; in lieu of the flash light was a lighthouse that took on the shape of a man. The scents were unique but subtle; refreshing.

  
There wasn't a plant in this room (at least, not yet), but there were many other things; one of which was a statue; a statue of a stag. It whispered to him, and it told him, I SEE YOU, AND I UNDERSTAND.

  
Will sat in the comfortable, black leather chair across from Dr Lecter. It was 8:30 in the morning. 

* * *

  
Hannibal was still as he observed the dark-haired man before him. Will Graham was looking without seeing out the window while unconsciously rubbing two fingers of his left hand over his chin. His breathing was slightly rapid, shallow. He was exhibiting signs of anxiety... but it wasn't where he was, or who he was with, that created it. Will Graham wasn't present, and the rest of his body was still; the hand gripping the arm of the chair was relaxed. His legs were spread wide apart, open and inviting. 

  
They had exchanged pleasantries, and though Will Graham had started to become comfortable enough to initiate conversation when meeting with Hannibal, to seek his help, to confide in him, this time he was more withdrawn. The circles under his eyes were darker, his lids were heavier, his skin was paler; all of which pointed to a lack of sleep. Hannibal waited patiently.

  
Will was trapped in an echo; a memory of the dream he'd had the night before. Or at least, what felt like a dream; it could have been his imagination, he wasn't entirely sure. He saw Hobbs in his kitchen, white-eyed and rotting, slitting Abigail's throat. He saw Hobbs on his own front porch beside a barking Winston, white-eyed and rotting, slitting Abigail's throat. Then he saw himself on his porch, bright-eyed and golden-skinned, slitting Abigail's throat. He watched as the blood sprayed from her carotid artery, drenching him in red. He watched as she fell to the ground and bled out, looking up at him with wide, blue, questioning eyes. 

  
Only once Abigail was dead did Will stop reverberating. Slowly, the raging ocean that was his porch became the calm waters that made Dr Lecter's office. Will blinked, eyes scanning his surroundings, before landing on the lighthouse. The light momentarily blinded him. Dr Lecter saw him; Dr Lecter knew. Will quickly shut the windows to his soul.

  
"Sorry. Uh... didn't sleep well, last night," said Will, breaking the silence; scratching a forehead that did not itch.

  
Hannibal saw, and he knew Will Graham knew he saw, so leaned back further into his seat, crossed his legs and folded his hands on top of his lap; expressing his lack of discomfort. _Relax_ , he told Will with his body. _I see you, and I understand you. You are safe here with me._

  
Hannibal had a long list of questions in mind; each one to be asked only when the time was right... 

  
"Do you still see him behind closed eyes?" was one of those questions. 

  
Will Graham momentarily froze before lowering his hand to his knee. His brow twitched in mock confusion. Hannibal saw himself in the gesture; Will was so used to hiding that it'd become second nature to feign ignorance. 

  
"Garret Jacob Hobbs," Hannibal clarified; feigning ignorance about Will Graham's feigning of ignorance.

  
Will's automatic reaction was to snort. It came off as if directed at Dr Lecter, asking him, _what do you think?_ But in fact, it was directed at himself, asking _why do I even bother?_ Dr Lecter had a way of seeing right through him... whether or not Will wanted him to was yet to be decided. 

  
The YES wasn't spoken, but Hannibal didn't need a verbal admission.

  
"Why do you think that is?" he asked. 

  
Will chewed on his bottom lip before responding, "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" 

  
"I could tell you what I think," Hannibal started. "But doing so has the potential to reshape your perspective. Speaking aloud what we are thinking can aid us in coming to our own conclusions... and those conclusions may be more accurate." 

  
Hannibal let Will Graham consider that before he continued. 

  
"What are you thinking, Will?" 

  
Will took a deep breath. 

  
"I..." he began, and he felt his face twitch. Stress, he told himself, as he rubbed it with a hand, as if the touch would help to ground, or shield him; either from Dr Lecter or himself. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

  
"I think... doing what I do... Profiling killers. Being the way I am..." 

  
He lowered his hand and gripped the arm of the chair. He watched as the fingers of his left hand twitched. He made them stop by clenching his fist. 

  
"... makes separating..." 

  
He released his grip and looked up at the ceiling; sighing.

  
"... difficult." 

  
"You profile many killers," said Hannibal. "What makes Garret Jacob Hobbs different?"

  
Will felt himself lose form until he was transparent; a spectre, that only Dr Lecter could see. He lowered his eyes from the ceiling. The blue curtains in his window parted, letting in amber rays that pressed warm kisses to his soul, some of which had the power to ignite him. Each kiss left a burn that read, in perfect cursive writing, I SEE YOU. 

  
Will saw his own eyes through Dr Lecter's; they responded. I WANT TO BE SEEN. 

  
"... I killed Hobbs," whispered Will, unable to look away. To be seen was... relieving, as much as it was unnerving. He was almost disappointed when Dr Lecter broke the spell by letting his eyes lower to Will's hand. It was then that Will realized he was rubbing the fingernail of his pointer finger over the pad of his thumb, over and over; it was the same finger he used to pull the trigger on Hobbs. The same motion. He tensed his jaw and stopped himself.

  
"Is that why you have difficulty separating? Because you took his life?" asked Hannibal, looking back into Will Graham's eyes once the motion ceased. 

  
Will met them, close to eager. 

  
"Yes..." he said, softly. 

  
Dr Lecter's head tilted to the side very slightly but he did not so much as blink otherwise.

  
"But you don't regret it," he replied. 

  
Will Graham laughed; he wished he regretted it.

  
"No. No... It's not regret that keeps him swimming around in the dark waters of my mind," said Will, pronouncing each word slowly and carefully. Calmly; thoughtfully. 

  
Hannibal's lips were still, but his heart smiled, overcome with glee; this was the Will Graham that hid behind the mask. This was the Will Graham that Hannibal was working hard to rescue; to pull out from the depths of conformity. Here he was, the magnificent beast lurking within, and he was unmistakably beautiful. 

  
Will was the one to break eye-contact, this time. Seeing himself through Dr Lecter's eyes while he confessed to such things was distressing. He didn't see the man he wanted to be; he didn't see the man that he saw through Alana's eyes. He saw a beast; a monster with black antlers, dead eyes and blood dripping down its chin. He looked back up at the ceiling and let out another sigh.

  
Hannibal sighed along with him, but only inwardly; the monster was back in hiding. Hannibal was disappointed but continued on; he knew it was only temporary. 

  
"Then what is it?" Hannibal asked. Will Graham's blue eyes flitted around the room. 

  
"Fear," he responded.

  
"What do you fear?" 

  
There was a hesitation; Will looked at the loft above Dr Lecter's head, met his eyes briefly, before looking down at the shoes the doctor wore. They were pristine and perfectly symmetrical; Dr Lecter was an idealist. They were black on the outside, with the slightest bit of salmon peeking out from the underside of the lace guards; Dr Lecter was composed but not immune to excitement. They must have been ridiculously expensive; Dr Lecter had a taste for the finer things in life. He appreciated elegance. He WAS elegant. Graceful. Shoes said a lot about a person. Although, so did anything else. 

  
"Likeness," Will answered at last, unmoving.

  
"You took his life, just as he had taken many lives, himself," said Dr Lecter; hitting the nail on the head, as usual. Will raised his eyes up from Dr Lecter's costly shoes to his thin leg; 'I'm very careful about what I put into my body.' From his thin leg to his luxurious tie. He let them run across Dr Lecter's full, pink lips. Let them trace his cheekbone, rise up into his hair, sink down over his forehead and rest on those warming, firy mirrors. They showed nothing but understanding. They were encouraging.

  
"I feel... like he's a part of me." 

  
Will Graham's eyes said many things, but screamed just one; HELP ME. Hannibal would not allow him to go unassisted. 

  
"He is what you consider your own darkness. A darkness you cannot escape," said Hannibal, and he let his brows crease slightly; intended to convey feelings of sympathy. 

  
Will Graham's jaw shifted from side to side. He nodded once, a jerky movement, then he shut his eyes, long and thick lashes fluttering against soft cheeks, as he reached up and rubbed his neck and shoulder. Hannibal watched a moment longer before he spoke; falling through branches of scenarios until he landed on one sturdy enough. 

  
"You carry the weight of your troubles on your shoulders. Your trapezius muscles hold the same tension that is present in your mind," said Hannibal, pausing before he continued. "Releasing that tension can be beneficial."

  
Hannibal waited for Will Graham's eyes to meet his; the connection would enhance feelings of trust when he said, "I can help you, Will." 

  
Will's quivering soul reached out and was, this time, grasped. 

  
"How?" asked Will. 

  
Dr Lecter leaned forward, palms pressed flat against the arms of the chair and elbows bent, as if he were preparing to get up. He looked at Will with a smile that reached his eyes. 

  
"Shiatsu massage," he said. 

  
Will's brow twitched, his head jerked, and one corner of his mouth turned upward. He laughed a laugh much different than the first; it was almost a question. 

  
When Dr Lecter stood up from the chair in one swift motion, hands running down his suit to flatten the wrinkles, Will lost his smile and his eyes widened. Question answered... but he asked, just for good measure... 

  
"You're not serious, are you?" 

  
He turned in his seat to follow Dr Lecter as the man walked behind him. 

  
"Of course I am," Dr Lecter replied, resting his hands on the back of Will's chair. He smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Will blinked rapidly; he couldn't hold Dr Lecter's gaze and instead lowered his head to look at the salmon-colored pocket square. It matched the color hidden inside his shoes... was there anything Dr Lecter did that wasn't intentional? Did he do anything spontaneously? Will's lips twitched; alternating between a smile and a frown. 

  
"Ah... not the therapy I was expecting...?" he said, turning back around, if only to keep Dr Lecter from witnessing his discomfort; he imagined his efforts were futile. 

  
"Wellness of the body and wellness of the mind are of equal importance for a happy life," said Dr Lecter. 

  
"Well, in that case, I'm screwed," Will scoffed, eyes widening before he ran his hands over them. The motion said 'I can't believe this is happening'. 

  
"I think fate has other plans for you, Will," said Dr Lecter before hesitating. As Will anticipated contact, a butterfly fluttered wildly within the cage of his ribs. With each beat of wing, a question arose; the same one, over and over. WHY? WHY? WHY? 

  
"This is more effective if done in a lying down position, but it is not entirely necessary," Dr Lecter said, subtly leaning over Will, as if he thought if he were any further away, Will would not have been able to hear him. The butterfly went through reverse-metamorphosis and became a caterpillar; a caterpillar which crawled up Will's oesophagus and made its way to his throat. He swallowed it back down. 

  
"I'll sit," he said, voice hoarse. 

  
As soon as Dr Lecter's hands grasped his trapezoids, Will stiffened, shut his eyes, and nearly choked on his own tongue. Though he knew the hands of a man were on him, he felt something else entirely. The Ravenstag came around the corner, big and black, and nuzzled his hand. It was trying to SHOW him something. Why? What was there to see? What about Dr Lecter had provoked the Ravenstag? What was it trying to tell him?

  
When Dr Lecter spoke, Will lifted his heavy lids and stared ahead; there the stag statue, behind Dr Lecter's chair, on the pedestal against the wall. That explained it; the statue must have been the last thing he'd seen before shutting his eyes. It had no meaning. Will rubbed his lips together. Fear had become a familiar friend; it came to him and asked him, ARE YOU LOSING YOUR MIND?

  
"Shiatsu massage is based on the same principles as acupuncture," Dr Lecter informed. "Instead of thin needle, the hands are used. Or more specifically, the fingers. 'Shiatsu' is Japanese for 'finger pressure'." 

  
Will shut his eyes, and this time, he saw Dr Lecter wearing a black kimono; felt Dr Lecter's dichotomous hands on him. They were as firm as they were gentle. Dr Lecter took on the shape of a blue crab as he pinched, adding to Will's agony, and transformed into a raven when he released; flying away and taking all of Will's suffering with him. 

  
"You apply pressure to remove pressure," said Will. 

  
"Yes."

  
Hannibal went back in time until he saw himself preparing a pair of fresh, healthy, and beautifully pink lungs for consumption. Cassie Boyle. He'd placed her in the middle of a field in Minnesota, fully exposed; nothing to hide. The crime matched the punishment; she was stripped of all decency. Skewered, not unlike a shish kebab, by the antlers on the head of a stag. Three and a half hours from Garet Jacob Hobbs' address, found only because the stag head had been stolen about a mile from the scene. It could have easily been mistaken for a crime committed by Garet Jacob Hobbs; easily mistaken by anyone but Will Graham. 

  
The stag was considered a messenger to the native tribes of North America, and it had delivered the exact messages that Hannibal had intended to. It said SEE ME and SEE HIM simultaneously; this 'copycat killer' - Hannibal - looked at his victims as if they were pigs; Hobbs did not. 

  
Hobbs loved his victims. Hobbs loved women. Young women; daughters. Hobbs consumed them to keep them with him; he couldn't bare separation. He couldn't bare separation from a daughter. 

  
Will saw; he received the message. 'Practically gift-wrapped', he had said, and that's exactly what it was; Hannibal's gift to Will Graham.

  
Cassie Boyle initially helped to tell Will Graham where Garet Jacob Hobbs resided, and the phone call that warned Hobbs set in motion the first stage of Will Graham's becoming. 

  
Hannibal took a deep breath and exhaled; he disguised it as a sigh, as if massaging Will was taking a lot of effort, but what he was doing was detecting - Encephalitis, to be precise. The sweetness and the heat of it was still present; the scent of it had started to become more potent. Soon, Hannibal would move onto stage two; he would use the Encephalitis to aid Will in his evolution. 

  
It was common for victims of Encephalitis to experience seizures do to abnormal synchronized activity in the brain cells; they were also apt to be photophobic. Hannibal planned to use this to his advantage. He would use flashing light therapy to overwhelm Will's already-overwhelmed brain, inducing seizures, and subject him to psychic driving. 

  
_'You're a killer, Will,'_ he would say. _'You killed Cassie Boyle.'_

  
He needed Will to believe. It wasn't enough for Will to see. He had to become; only then would true understanding manifest. 

  
Once he accepted what he truly was, Will would emerge from the chrysalis as the God he was meant to be; taking the lives he deemed fit to take. It wouldn't be long before he added the finishing touches to the painting of the Chesapeake Ripper, and once he saw it in full, glorious detail, tears of joy would stream down his blood-stained cheeks. He'd see Hannibal, and in Hannibal, he'd see himself. 

  
The broken tea cup that made Will, the broken tea cup that made Hannibal, would join together. Pieces would be left behind, but that mattered not; this new, amalgamated teacup would be superior. 

  
Will and Hannibal, together, would become a whole teacup once again... and Abigail would be the psilocybin mushroom tea that filled it. 

  
And this... this was Hannibal's gift to Will Graham.

  
"Mild discomfort may be present as pressure is applied... but if you are resilient enough to withstand it, you will emerge a new man." 

  
"Hm," uttered Will, brows raising even with his eyes shut. Behind closed eyes, the Ravenstag returned, so vivid that he could see his and Dr Lecter's reflection in its big, brown eye. Will could feel its breath on his cheek. SEE? it asked, then demanded; SEE. SEE WITHOUT EYES. 

  
Will kept his shut as he said, "Not unlike psychiatry."

  
Hannibal's smile flatlined while his heart began to chortle. He did not discontinue his massage because he knew, for someone like Will Graham, it would be as good as a confession. 

  
Did Will know? 

  
"Do you feel pressured, Will?" Hannibal tested. 

  
"I feel an astounding amount of pressure, Dr Lecter," Will Graham responded. 

  
Hannibal, unsure as to whether or not Will was being deliberately vague, responded without giving anything away; "How does that make you feel?"

  
"Like a volcano on the verge of eruption," said Will, and he saw himself, bathed in blood under the light of the full moon. 

  
Synchronously, Hannibal saw Will, bathed in the light of the full moon, blood as black as the night sky coating him from head to foot. He thought, perhaps Will didn't need psychic driving. Perhaps he just needed a nudge in the right direction...

  
"Volcanoes can be destructive; their eruptions devastating anything within close distance - except for other volcanoes."

  
"Mhm."

  
"Eruptions also help to create minerals such as gold, silver and diamonds, create rich agricultural soil, and were responsible for most of Earth's water."

  
"What are you saying? That I should erupt?" 

  
"I'm saying you shouldn't fear eruption; it might not be as destructive as you think. And... it would release a lot of tension."

  
Hannibal rested his hands still against Will's trapezius muscles, indicating that he was finished.

  
"Do you feel like a new man?" he asked, smiling.

  
"I'm getting there. Thank you," Will replied, keeping his eyes shut even once Dr Lecter removed his hands entirely.

  
"The pleasure was all mine," said Hannibal Lecter.

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many things hidden in this story, and I was actually going to point them all out, but I decided against it. I thought it might be more fun to let you find them, yourself.


End file.
